QUIGLEY'S FILM CRITIC

Ginormous freestoner browns. Epically difficult spring creek rainbows. Those ghosts called permit or the mythical winter steelhead tailwalking across your eyelids every night. Hell, fishing to carp in an industrial drainage ditch gets a lot of us flat-out psyched because fishing for anything is fun. And having fun is really, really fun.

Ginormous freestoner browns. Epically difficult spring creek rainbows. Those ghosts called permit or the mythical winter steelhead tailwalking across your eyelids every night. Hell, fishing to carp in an industrial drainage ditch gets a lot of us flat-out psyched because fishing for anything is fun. And having fun is really, really fun.

Whatever your soul's out there quietly casting to, let's just call this whole flyfishing thing what it is: Beautiful magic. Young, old, guy or girl - everyone who's ever gripped a flyrod's been in on that collective stoke known only to those who fish the fly, which is precisely where Idylwilde comes in. At the end of each bomber loop or perfect drift, a notoriously selective mouth has to open up and suck down the dinner you're putting out there. Time to serve up a gourmet supper, friend, and we've got you covered with our hand picked listings of the secret sauce.